Sentimental Reasons
by CurbItKirby
Summary: In which Deucalion spends his downtime with a human waitress. Deucalion/OFC
1. Chapter 1

"Good morning, can I start you off with some coffee?"

Deucalion glanced in the woman's direction. Her tone had been breezy and surprisingly earnest, as warm as the sunlight pouring through the window, and he answered passively, "Decaf, if you please."

"Not a problem, just give me a second…"

The Alpha listened to her walk away, sneakers squeaking faintly on the tiled floor as she went to get the decaf pot. He tilted his head toward her voice as she spoke, "Nice to see the weather's finally cooling down."

"It certainly is." He rested his chin absently on his hand; his fingers idly tapping the handle of his white cane. Deucalion listened as she fluttered about the counter, his ears seeing more than his eyes had in years as she came back around. He supposed his waitress to be in the younger end of her twenties, given how strong, rich her voice was and how quickly she moved about. The booth he sat in was no doubt a garish enclosure, he was sure. The linoleum tabletop was chipped and the seat in which sat, while well padded, was being held together with duct tape and little else, which earned a hint of a grimace from him. When he heard her return, his expression shifted to something more akin to a smile. The man flexed his fingers around his white cane, "The humidity was dreadful this summer."

The waitress hummed in agreement as she poured his coffee, "You got that right. I swear I thought the paint was going to peel off my walls. Creamers are to your left, the sugar packets about an inch forward."

"Thank you," Deucalion nodded gracefully as he tried and failed to repress the small smile pulling at his mouth. It wasn't often people let him sort things out for himself- they either dismissed his blindness entirely, deeming it too awkward to mention or insisted on coddling him. Which, admittedly, at times played to his benefit. Such people were considerably easier to manipulate when they had preconceived notions that he could play into. It was when such people felt the need to treat him like an invalid that it grew tiring. It was when they insisted to assist him when it was clearly unneeded that his patience began to wane with the public. He appreciated the waitress's approach, noting that there hadn't been so much as a hint of condescension or pity in her tone.

"No problem, have you decided on what you'd like?"

The Alpha supposed her to be somewhere just under the six foot line. Tall for a woman. He would be able to get a better gauge of her exact height when he stood. It was so much easier to tell heights comparatively that way. He listened as she pulled a notebook out, the pages crinkling slightly as she flipped to a new page.

The man caught a whiff of her perfume, a synthetic flowery scent that did little to mask the undercurrent of bitterness in her natural scent. Focusing on it, he replied, "What would you recommend?"

"Well, were you thinking of a light breakfast, or maybe something heavier, assuming you're having breakfast at all and not an early lunch." Her voice was still friendly, laced with flustered amusement as she shifted from foot to foot with restless energy.

"Breakfast is fine." Deucalion turned his face upward in her direction, wondering if he made her nervous. The thought put a smile on his face, but there was no anxiety in her scent. Just that same perfume and oddly acrid natural scent. It wasn't cancer or a tumor- it wasn't heavy enough, but too central to her core to be a blood disease. Strange.

She hummed absently. After a moment, she answered, her tone no longer as playful, but rather a touch apprehensive. "Well, the oven puffed pancakes are awesome. You get one pancake, topped with strawberries or blueberries. I know it doesn't sound like much-"

"Blueberry pancakes sound wonderful."

"It's $8.50, plus tax." She rushed and he could feel the air move as she waved her hand, "I mean, I don't know if you're in a hurry or have an allergy or anything, so if you don't like it, I can hook you up with something else, okay?"

"That's fine." His lips curled back in amusement, flashing white teeth and emitting breezy confidence. He gestured to the empty diner around them with a casual flick of his wrist. "Are you always this busy?"

"You just missed the breakfast rush," The woman explained as she rocked on her heels. Her voice evened out, less anxious and more relaxed or at least as relaxed as he had heard her so far, "We'll be swamped again in an hour or so…I'll make sure to give you a heads up."

Deucalion nodded with an appreciative bow of his head as he told her, "My sincerest gratitude."

"Oh…" A teasing tone entered the woman's voice, honeying it as she gave his shoulder a light nudge with her index finger, "Someone knows how to earn brownie points with the wait staff. I'll make sure Jimmy treats ya right."

"Jimmy?" He repeated, surprised by the casual contact but not put off by it. It was unlikely she was flirting with him, there had been no rush of arousal; with him sitting so close, the man certainly would have caught the taste of it in the air. With a curious smirk, he listened as she spun on her heel; her shoes must've been rather well worn, the soles of them creating subtle squeaks with each step she took. It was irritating and grating on his sensitive hearing, but not unbearable.

"Our line cook," She explained before she put his order in, only to receive a grunt of acknowledgement from the man behind the window before she turned back to him, "Jim's not much of a morning person, are ya Jim?"

"Shouldn't you be wiping down the counters?" A gruff, decidedly masculine voice asked with hint of annoyance in it.

The waitress let out a huff of quiet laughter. With a hint of teasing smugness, she replied, "Yeah, probably."

Deucalion followed her path, listening as she went about wetting a cloth and wringing out the excess water.

"Do you want me to turn on the tv? Or maybe the radio?" She called from behind the counter.

He would've been able to have heard had she whispered, but of course the human needn't know that. "The radio would be splendid."

"Okay, handsome, quit trying to butter me up with your common decency and casual politeness. A waitress shouldn't become too used to such things." The woman teased. A faint click followed before the deep voice of Frank Sinatra filled the still air. "Is this okay?"

"It's just fine."

"Good, because the dial's broken and I couldn't change it anyhow."

A smile curled over his lips, but he didn't reply. The crooning voice didn't overtake his senses as it might have a blind human. His hearing sharp enough to hear the cook in the back heating the oven, a gas one, evidently, judging by the smell and the low _floosh_ it gave when lit. A few tables over, the young woman was humming contentedly. It was off rhyme with the music, more a made up melody than trying to follow the slow tempo of _Moonlight Serenade_.

Personally, Deucalion had always preferred the Glenn Miller version. The need to add lyrics had always puzzled him, the instrumental version having held up so well on its own. The emotion had been just as clear, just as seductive and romantic, without the words- more so even, but he felt no urge to complain. The sun was warm through the window, the company was harmless and light and judging by the delicious smell wafting from the back, the food would be good. Better yet, there wasn't a werewolf for miles and he didn't have to pretend to care about whatever little spat his pack members were having.

His attention drifted back to the woman's scent. It was faint under the aroma of baking pastry, the gas and whatever spray she was using to wipe down the counter with, but it was there. The werewolf wondered vaguely whether or not she was aware of her illness. The thought had barely crossed his mind when he heard it, a slight irregularity in her heart beat; a palpitation. A quiet gasp followed, a hand coming down on linoleum and a squeak as a foot slipped out from under her. Deucalion pursed his lips, the sound of her erratic breathing a surprise but not anything he was going to rush to remedy. It would be hard to remain inconspicuous if he reacted to every little medical emergency that went on around him. Admittedly, he did turn in her direction, curious to as how it would play out for the young human. It would be a pity to lose such a friendly service worker…much less before he got his breakfast.

The waitress inhaled, her breathing evening out, slow and deep as her heart continued to pound and stutter. He tilted his head toward it, the sounds of Frank Sinatra fading out and giving him a short window to listen to her without the distraction of music. She ground her teeth and the light scratches of her nails digging into the tabletop could be heard, but she wasn't panicking, wasn't crying or trying to get help. She just grit her teeth and struggled to breathe through what he was sure was a painful spasm, given the fact her heart had yet to slow and continued to skip and hammer in her chest-but just as quickly as it had come on, it ceased. The rhyme returned and the woman took a deep breath just as a bell rang.

"Order up," Jimmy called, his voice gruff as he dinged the bell insistently.

"Okay." The woman whispered. When he kept it up, she repeated herself, louder this time, "Okay!"

The werewolf noted her formerly casual cheerfulness was now forced and strained. The waitress took a few steadying breaths before she moved over to the counter. A new song had come on the radio, Don McLean's _Vincent_, but neither of the employees paid it any mind.

"Don't think I didn't see that little freak out, Red," Jimmy murmured softly to her.

"Don't think I didn't see that little glimmer of concern there, old man." The woman replied back teasingly.

The man grunted in reply and the waitress, _Red_, giggled, a silvery sound that made the werewolf smirk. He assumed the nickname was take on her hair, as it usually was when a woman was referred to as such, but didn't bother to dwell on it as she approached. The scent of cinnamon and fresh fruit made his mouth water and Deucalion tilted his head toward the sound of her voice, sectioning his cane with absent minded precision.

"Okay, now, if you don't like it, I'll take full responsibility since I totally forced your hand-"

"Hardly," Deucalion smirked as she set the plate in front of him. The light clatter of the silverware followed as she arranged it to his right. "It smells ambrosial."

She let out an amused huff, "I'm going to assume that's a good thing."

"It most certainly is," The werewolf assured her, placing his napkin in his lap.

"Can I top you off?"

"Please."

He listened as she went to fetch the coffee pot. It was impressive how easily she had managed to regain control of her movements. Given her recovery time had only been moments, he was rather surprised to find her fluttering about like nothing had happened.

"Don't you touch that until I get the syrup," She warned him, tone just as full of jest and indiscriminate affection as it had been when he first sat down. "We have maple, plain honey, strawberry, blueberry, blackberry, mixed berry and citrus. Just tell me what kind you'd like."

"Quite the selection you have."

The human chuckled, "You bet we do."

"Blueberry will be fine, thank you."

"There's that common courtesy again," She teased, her feet makes little squeaks on the tile once more. "There is no need for such chivalry; I am but a humble servant, my good sir."

A wicked smirk crossed his lips at that. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, I could impart some vulgarity between my thanks."

"Sweetheart, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think my heart could handle such foul language coming from such a pretty mouth."

There was no tremor of a lie in her voice. Deucalion tilted his head at that, a brow arching above his sunglasses in amusement as she set the bottle on the table and directed him to it. He inclined his head in thanks once more and she went off to finish wiping down the tables. He was pleased to find the food was as delicious as it smelled. Perhaps he would become a regular at this establishment. The music filled the silence, the feminine singer unfamiliar to him but certainly pleasant enough as he ate.


	2. Chapter 2

Toward the end of Deucalion's meal, people began to wander into the restaurant. The Alpha kept his head down as an elderly couple slipped into the booth behind his own. The woman's perfume was not unpleasant, but heavy all the same; it thickened the air around them in a plume of synthetic fragrance that made his nose twitch.

The familiar squeak on the tiles told him his waitress was coming and he looked up accordingly, ignoring the couple's idle chit chat about their granddaughter's upcoming piano recital. He clenched his jaw at their loud voices. Annoyed with the break in silence, Deucalion tuned them out as best he could. Apparently some of his annoyance played on his face, because the young woman chuckled quietly before speaking.

"You have about five minutes before the lunch rush comes in," She warned him, tone filled with mirth, "Refill or would you prefer just the check?"

"Just the check."

"It's 9.69," Deucalion felt her hand come down on his shoulder, her voice dropping to a conspiring whisper as she told him, "you could just leave the money on the table and sneak out, if you wanted to avoid getting sucked into whatever petty argument my two favorite customers are getting into."

A rueful smirk crossed the werewolf's lips as he began to connect the sections of his cane, "And here I thought that title was reserved for me."

"Oh, trust me, darlin', if I was gonna call you something I'd come up with something a lot more…_colorful_, than favorite." She teased, a familiar, casual warmth in her tone, but still no arousal in her scent.

"Colorful?" He repeated dryly. An amused brow rose over his glasses. "Odd choice of words when referring to a blind man."

The woman let out a huff of amusement and pulled back. Giving his shoulder a squeeze, she told him, "Don't play the blind card with me, handsome. Still gotta pay your tab and tip your waitresses."

"And what lovely waitresses they are." The man replied, clicking the last section into place.

She walked away with a scoff, purposely knocking her hip against his arm; he was quick to pull his wallet out. He kept his bills in a certain way as to differentiate them; ones were left straight, fives folded in half, tens folded lengthwise and twenties folded in a combination of the previous two. It was the last he reached for, straightening the wrinkles out and setting his empty coffee cup on it. Always best to over tip in establishments one planned on returning to, he thought.

Without signaling to the waitress, he slipped out of the diner and out into the sunlight.

When he returned the next day, the weather had taken a turn for the worst. Cold rain had hammered down on him; slicking his hair and making his clothes stick to uncomfortably to his skin. Deucalion shuddered as he slipped inside, shaking some of the water from his glasses with a growl of annoyance. It hadn't been raining nearly as hard when he left the apartment. Barely drizzling then, but now it was an outright downpour.

Light feet squeaked on the tile, louder than they had been previously. Apparently the waitress had been caught in the rainstorm as well. "Oh, hey, I'm glad you're- _wow_."

Deucalion slipped his glasses back over his eyes. He had been told, repeatedly by the twins, that his eyes could be unsettling. With an arched brow, he asked in a mock innocent voice, "Something wrong?"

"You are…let me get you a towel or something," The woman rushed, sneakers squealing as she moved into a spare supply closet. As she got farther away, she called, "Take a seat! Preferably at the counter, ten feet forward, watch the step!"

The Alpha did as he was told. He let his cane skip over the tiles and found that her guess was off by two feet and tucked that away in the back of his mind for another visit. It was a habit, developed over the years, to mentally map out any areas he frequented (or intended to frequent). It hit the mentioned step and he reached a hand out. Soft leather and duct tape hit his fingertips and his lips twitched. He doubted there was a seat in this place not being held together by will and the sticky reflective material. Deucalion slipped into the seat and began to section off his cane as soft squeaks filled the air once again.

"She fill ya in on the special yet?" A deep voice grunted.

Jimmy- Jim, the cook. He supposed he was probably facing him directly, the smells from the kitchen blocking the man's natural scent. The Alpha shook his head, "Not yet."

"It's oatmeal."

A feminine voice piped up as the waitress returned, tone heavy with sarcasm, "Oh, well don't dress it up for the customers, Jim."

"Shut up, Red."

"You shut up," The woman teased. She was close now; barely a foot away if the werewolf had to guess. As her hand came down on his arm, he supposed he was correct. He turned to her and she pressed a towel into his hand.

"Here, dry yourself off."

Deucalion did as he was told. Patting his face with the slightly starch material as she rounded the counter, he asked if they had many customers that morning. The cook gave a grunt, but didn't answer. The waitress took up where Jim left off, "Only a few stragglers like yourself."

"Is that right?" He arched a brow above his glasses, curious as to why her tone was heavier than it had been the day before. Less welcoming and more stand offish. Her scent had changed as well. The bitterness was still there, as was her flowery shampoo or perfume or whatever it was she used, but there was a hint of something else to it now; arousal. Barely there, but distinct enough for him to register.

"Yep," The register dinged as she continued, "Hold out your hand."

Cautiously, he did as he was told. Her hand cupped his, fingers long and her touch gentle as she turned his palm upward. She pressed a bill into his hand and let him go. He let out a hum as he rubbed it between his fingers. There were two distinct creases and he nodded knowingly, "This is the bill I left for you yesterday."

"Yes it is." He felt the woman shift across the counter. Her tone was clipped and annoyed as she plucked the coffee cup up from beside him and poured him some decaf, "It's a twenty. The meal was only nine dollars."

"I'm not seeing a problem."

The woman huffed. "The problem is I spent about fifteen minutes yesterday trying to figure out the kismet repercussions of stealing from a blind guy. Even an inordinately handsome one such as yourself."

A wry, somewhat condescending smile crossed his lips, "It was a tip."

"A 110% tip? That's not a tip, that's _charity._" She shot back indignantly. Setting the cup just to the right of his hand, she continued absently, "Sugar and creamers to your left, mind the cash register."

Deucalion nodded and pulled a packet of sugar out from the container. Shaking it absently, he pursed his lips, "I've offended you?"

"Look, I'm sure it wasn't intentional, okay? You don't seem like the _talk slow to the help_ type, well…maybe a little," she admitted, but the waitress waved off that train of thought and carried on earnestly, "Probably comes with the territory, but I can't accept a ten dollar tip. Not from you, not from anyone."

Jim's voice cut in from the back, voice tired but amused, "I told her she should just give it to me, but she wouldn't listen."

"The territory?" Deucalion asked, inclining his head in her direction as he tore the packet open and dumped the sugar into his coffee.

"Don't you work at the college?"

The werewolf blinked behind his sunglasses before letting out an irked, "_No_. Why would you think…?"

"You were in a tweed jacket!" The woman shrieked with embarrassment, "I didn't even know they made those in real life!"

"You thought-"

"You know what," She interrupted, a hint of indignant embarrassment in her voice as she waved her hand again. "Doesn't matter, I'm sorry. Now give me ten dollars to cover yesterday's breakfast and I will happily take your order."

The man shook his head and pulled out his wallet. He slipped the twenty back inside and plucked out a ten. Holding it out to her, he shook his head as she opened the cash register once again. Tone laced with amusement, he told her, "See if I ever tip you again, Miss…?"

"Isla. My name's Isla." The waitress told him, taking out the change and pressing the coins into his palm. "You got a name, or will handsome suffice?"

"Well, it certainly is an apt observation, wouldn't you agree?"

"I certainly would," Isla replied, her voice light and warm once again. The man absently wondered how it was a jacket and a lavish tip was enough to warrant her distain, but since it had passed quickly enough, Deucalion pushed it aside as she asked, "What can I get for you?"

"The oatmeal sounds just fine."

"_That_, is a very good choice on a wet day." She shuffled away from him, "You get that, Jim?"

When she received a grunt of acknowledgement, the woman giggled. A smirk drifted across the Alpha's face as he raised his coffee mug to his lips. It was steaming, fogging his glasses slightly and the woman made a low noise in the back of her throat.

"You should let me wipe those off for you."

Deucalion blinked, "And why would I do that?"

"Because it's really distracting and they're going to rust if you don't?" She offered, setting a napkin and a spoon beside the sugar packets and cream.

The man pulled them from his face and passed them to her. "Are you the only waitress here?"

"At the moment? Yes. Only one employed? Not so much," She breathed on his glasses and he heard the slight squeak as she rubbed them with a piece of cloth. "Why? Sick of me already…whatever your name is."

"Deucalion."

"Fuck off," She snapped at him in surprise. Apparently out of reflex because she quickly began to apologize, fumbling and laughing anxiously, "Sorry, I just, you know- it's not exactly everyday-"

"It's fine," He smiled, flashing straight white teeth and a bit of delight at her embarrassment. "Not the reaction I was expecting, but not the worst I've heard."

"Well, whatever you say, Dee." A bell rang behind her and her attention shifted, "Really, Jim? I'm literally two feet away."

It rang again, this time just to spite her. Isla huffed and a chortle could be heard coming from the cook. Muttering a very naughty word under her breath, she picked the bowl up from the counter and set it in front of the customer.

"Can I get you syrup? Honey? Brown sugar, white sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, Nutella, yogurt-"

"Honey will suffice."

"But you didn't even let me finish," Isla teased, already moving to fetch it for him.


	3. Chapter 3

"If we're going to keep doing this you're going to have to stop being so obviously charming and attractive…Maybe start being a little meaner to me, too."

Deucalion pursed his lips at the waitress's sober tone. It was unusual of her to be so serious, especially when it came to their casual flirtations. Over the course of a week, Isla had been nothing short of a viable ray of sunshine to those around her. He raised his hand, a silent request that she fulfilled without comment. She grasped it as one would a small child's; fingers closing over his palm, her thumb framing his own, not her usual way of lacing their fingers or linking their arms. The touch was light and impersonal, unusual from her normally tight squeezes.

Arching a brow over his sunglasses, he followed her to his booth. Deucalion caressed the back of her hand with his thumb as he asked, "Oh? And why is that?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm all for our friendly banter, but the amenities haven't gone… _unnoticed_." Isla told him, letting him go as he slipped into his seat. Dropping her voice to a more subtle tone, she continued, "And some other, less open minded people, are apparently starting to talk."

Her hand fell to his shoulder, brushing some water droplets off his wool coat gently. The man lifted his face in the direction of her voice, but didn't speak as she shifted awkwardly beside him. Deucalion heard her clear her throat softly, felt the anxiety roll off her in waves and attempted to lighten the mood with some innocent flattery, "That was certainly never my intention. I wouldn't want to scare off my favorite waitress."

She gave him a playful slap on the arm, but her tone brightened considerably. "No, you wouldn't."

"Isla! What did I say about flirting with the customers?!" A high pitch voice called from the back. He winced at the sound of it.

The woman stiffened. Deucalion heard her swallow and chuckled at her (unseen) physical response. "And here I thought we had something special."

She hit him again, a bit harder this time around. Voice quiet, she muttered, "Hush."

"Isla!"

"Coming, Mrs. Daye!" The waitress called over her shoulder with a sigh. "See ya around, Dee."

Her hip nudged his shoulder purposely as she walked away, her sneakers squeaking loudly on the floor. If there was one reason he wished for the rain to end, it was those sneakers. A huff of laughter left his lips as the unfamiliar voice piped up once more.

"Always with the flirting!" The unknown female groaned, clearly frustrated with the young woman. "Can't you keep it in your pants for five minutes?!"

"It's not flirting," His waitress replied, a touch of irritation in her tone as she tried to keep her voice low in a failed attempt to spare herself(and maybe him) some embarrassment. "There's nothing wrong with being friendly."

"Friendly, flirting, same difference." There was annoyance in the stranger's voice now, but given how Isla hummed over it, the waitress seemed none too worried about it. "This is your _workplace_, Isla. You need to learn boundaries. Besides, he's too old for you."

In a frantic whisper, the younger woman snapped, "_Mrs. Daye!"_

"What?" Her, he could only assume, boss asked airily. Her heels clicked loudly on the tile floor. She carried with an innocent inflation in her voice as she moved about the counter, "You need to find yourself a nice _boy_ and settle down…like my grandson. You remember Jakey…"

Isla giggled with amusement, but promptly dismissed the idea. "I don't think so."

With a hint of offense, the woman asked, "And just why not?"

There was a pause from the waitress. Deucalion strained to hear her heartbeat, finding it to be its regular irregular. There was no panic in it, no frantic sense of worry as she spoke, "Because he's _gay_."

"A nice girl could change that."

"I don't think that's how sexuality works, Mrs. Daye."

That was apparently all Isla had to say on the matter, as her sneakers came squeaking back in Deucalion's direction. He tilted his head at her, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. When the young woman caught sight of it, she gave his shoulder a light push.

"Oh, quiet you," She hissed at him. He heard her filling up his cup with decaf, but didn't get a chance to speak before she went on, "I _was_ going to apologize for her blatant disregard for inside voices, but now I'm just going to do this;" In a clear, considerably louder voice, the woman turned away from her customer, "Mrs. Daye? This man says he'd like to know if you knew any places around town where he could meet some women his own age?"

The smirk promptly fell from his lips as the diner's owner let out an excited, overly-pleased squeal. In hushed, somewhat bitter, tone, he told his waitress, "I never knew you had such a ruthless sense of humor, Isla."

"You shouldn't have mocked me, Dee. I am _vicious_." The redhead whispered in his ear before she ruffled his tawny hair playfully. He caught that strange, bitter scent once more, strong with their close proximity, but said nothing. Just indignantly shook his head. Stepping back a touch, she carried on in a more professional manner. "By the way, the special is a three cheese omelet with a side order of bacon or sausage. It's 8.98 with tax."

The clicking of heels became louder as Isla squeaked away. Mrs. Daye, he presumed, dropped into the seat across from him. There was a light hiss of air from the booth's ancient cushioned seat. Her perfume was heavy and thick, as elderly women tended to wear it, and made him a bit dizzy. Her voice was clear and her tone a little distrustful as she clapped her hands together. "So, Mr…?"

"Deucalion."

"And what's your first name?" She asked with a hint of hostility.

He blinked passively behind his aviator glasses. Disinterested, but not wanting to be rude, the Alpha explained, "That is my first name."

"Then what's your last name?"

"This all seems rather personal…" The man replied, slightly uncomfortable. He could hear Isla's tinkling laughter somewhere behind the counter and silently cursed her for enjoying his embarrassment so much.

Mrs. Daye offered him an unimpressed hum. "Well, you'll never meet a woman with that kind of attitude, at least any of an _appropriate_ age."

"I presume you're speaking of Miss Isla." Deucalion replied with a hint of a frown pulling at the side of his mouth. Frankly, he thought little of the waitress beyond an appreciation of her bubbly attitude and frank disposition. Well, that and a curiosity as to whatever it was that was ailing her. Sexual attraction didn't factor into it in the least, although the odd affectionate touch from her was certainly appreciated.

"I am. She's only a child, you know." The woman cleared her throat with distaste. It did little to endear her to the Alpha, who was already quite aware of the fangs beginning to prick against his pursed lips. She went on unknowingly in a clipped tone, "Barely out of high school-"

"I am twenty four years old!" Isla shrieked indignantly from a few yards to Deucalion's left. Somewhere behind the counter, if he had to guess.

Jimmy chuckled from the kitchen. "Face it, Iz, you're an infant in a D cup."

"That is harassment! And slander! And _stop laughing at me, Jamison!"_

The latter was a shriek that almost drowned out the cook's amused laughter. The waitress made a noise in the back of her throat that was so similar to a growl that Deucalion felt a chill run down his spine. Okay, so maybe there was a _little_ sexual attraction.

Across from him, Mrs. Daye let out a hum and directed her attention to the younger woman. "Well. You should still be taking an interest in boys your own age, not men old enough to be your father."

"Oh my god!" Isla moaned in horror. "And you say _I'm_ inappropriate with the customers?! Hypocrite!"

"It's fine, really," Deucalion told the frazzled waitress with a wave of his hand. In all honesty, he was a little uncomfortable with being put on the spot. The woman across from him was nosey and intrusive and frankly, he could do without her condescension and scrutiny, but he wasn't about to make Isla feel bad about it. It wasn't as if it were her fault- well, not entirely her fault...

"No it isn't!" The younger woman huffed. "It's totally inappropriate on, like, at least eight different levels, Dee. Stop being so cool about it. Your nonchalance is not as attractive as you think it is!"

A smile edged along his lips as she returned with his breakfast in hand. The smell of sausage and eggs made his mouth water, but he turned to look at her with a dubious cock of his head. "I haven't ordered yet."

Isla scoffed at him, "_Please_, you always get the special. Toast- whole wheat and lightly buttered, eggs sunny side up and sausage instead of bacon, right?"

"It's this kind of attention to detail that keeps me coming back." He praised absently as he set a napkin in his lap, dismissing the elderly woman across from him without a word in her direction.

The waitress let out a triumphant little _hm_ before turning to Mrs. Daye. "See? Being friendly keeps them coming back."

Her boss let out an unimpressed grunt. "Well. I suppose."

When the Daye woman had slipped out of the seat across from him, Deucalion had assumed the subject was dropped. He pushed her rudeness to the back of his mind and focused on his breakfast without a second thought to it.

It wasn't until the next day that he realized he had been mistaken. Instead of Isla's fruity voice, a new unfamiliar one greeted him.

"Hi!" It sounded considerably younger than his usual waitress. Her voice, higher pitched and excited, coming from a few inches lower. "Can I- oh, I mean, can I show you to your booth?"

Deucalion tilted his head curiously, but didn't move from the diner's entrance. He pointed vaguely at her direction with his cane, "You're not Isla."

"Oh, heh, no, Mrs. Daye switched our schedules." The new woman explained. She smelt of an overpowering mix synthetic oranges and lilac shampoo. Undeterred by his disappointment, she carried on, "She's on the night shift tonight."

"Is that right?"

"She works 'til ten," Jimmy cut in from the back. "If you were curious."

Appreciating the hint of sarcasm in the cook's tone, Deucalion smiled and inclined his head. "Thank you."

"No problem," He replied casually. "Iz deserves to have a little fun. Even if you are too old for her…"

"Yes, well…I suppose I'll see you tonight then."

Jimmy only grunted in reply before the Alpha turned and left.


	4. Chapter 4

The rain outside had finally settled into a weak drizzle, no longer the booming storm it had been hours before. The air was chill for the time of year, but not cold. Almost pleasant with its mellow breeze. The diner contained only the irregular heartbeat of the young woman he had come to visit. Deucalion was thankful for both of these things. The bell chimed shrilly above his head as he stepped through the door.

"Well, well, well," Isla chuckled, her tone light and breezy and not at all concerned about being left alone with a stranger who could easily snap her neck without second thought. "Isn't _this_ a pleasant surprise."

"Are you still open?" The man asked, counting the steps toward the counter as he sectioned off his white cane. He stopped about a foot away from the chair and tilted his head in her direction. "I could come back in the morning, if you'd prefer."

The waitress let out a quiet hum of consideration. "Well, my boss wouldn't exactly deem it _appropriate_ to be fraternizing with the customers after hours- much less an older, exceedingly handsome one such as yourself, Dee."

Deucalion repressed a smile and chose to simply arch a brow at her as the woman came around to his side of the counter. "Is there a _but_?"

"Of course there is," Isla's hand touched his back and softly steered him toward the beat up leather stool. Once he was seated, she clapped him on the shoulders and gave them a tight squeeze. A vague hint of her bitter scent hit him, mostly covered by floral laundry detergent and light soap as she leaned over his shoulder to whisper in a conspiring tone, "In this case it's; _but_ fuck her, she's not here."

He smirked at her, but she didn't comment on it as she returned to her side of the counter. Carrying on absently, she warned him, "But sadly, neither is Jimmy, so the kitchen's closed, I'm afraid. At least we have the wonderful assortment that the dessert tray has to offer to entertain ourselves with."

"Thank god for small miracles."

Isla scoffed at him, but her tone reminded airy and warm. "Like you didn't just come in her to enjoy my company and leech some compliments."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Deucalion told her firmly, seeming to bristle at her confidence, "I simply like the food."

"_Lies_. There's no point in _lying_, you _liar_, because you've already been outted." She giggled a feminine, bright sound that made his stomach tighten a tad- although he wasn't sure if he liked that she could make it do that just yet.

Deucalion raised his brows at the light clatter of silverware as she set a fork and plate down in front of him. When the warm, welcoming scent of cinnamon met his nose, he asked, "I have?"

"Mhm. Also, if you like the food so much, why'd you come back after the cook left?"

"I didn't know he was gone until you told me so." The man rebuffed with pursed lips despite the way amusement pulled at the corner of his mouth. "What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that you like our little trysts." Isla replied. He felt her lean in slightly, to rest what he assumed to be her elbows on the counter as she continued nonchalantly, "Case in point, that you were here this morning and left when you found out I wasn't working."

Deucalion let out a hum of disapproval. "I never pegged Jimmy as the gossiping type."

"Oh, it wasn't Jimmy." The waitress set something in front of him. "I hope milk's okay, it seems too late to put a pot of coffee on."

"It's fine." He flexed his fingers around his glass. "So, if it wasn't our dear Jimmy, who was it that told you about my earlier visit?"

"Your nephews might've mentioned it."

The Alpha's brows rose over his Aviators. Dread replaced the warm feeling in his stomach, knotting it and straining his voice slightly as he repeated, "My nephews?"

"The twin teens that were terrorizing me little over an hour ago." Isla chuckled once more, her voice strong and clearly entertained and somewhat infuriating as she continued, "And by that I mean they were perfect gentlemen who stopped by to lavish me with compliments and ask how it is I plan to get you in the sack."

The glass of milk stopped an inch from his lips. Brow furrowed, he clenched his jaw. Around fanged teeth, he grit out, "They did _not_."

"Well, not in so many words. Aidan seemed particularly adamant about your need to get laid."

A hint of heat rose under his collar. Bristling with annoyance, and maybe a little embarrassment, the man told her firmly, "I do not."

"Too bad." He could actually hear the smile in her voice. It sounded like mischief. Or maybe that was insolence. It was hard to tell with Isla. "I told him I was working on it."

"You did _not_."

Entirely too proud to be destroying his life, or at the very least, his authority, she replied with a smug, "I totally did."

Deucalion sighed at her and set his untouched milk down. Rubbing his brow, he shook his head. "They'll never let me hear the end of this."

"Good. If it's gotten so bad family members are getting involved, it might be time to reevaluate your priorities. Also, eat." He heard her push the plate in his direction, "Or I'll have to throw it out. You're not allergic to anything are you?"

"No." He frowned as she forced a fork in to his hand with nimble, firm fingers. "And what should my priorities be?"

"Getting laid." After a moment of pensive silence between them, she added, "_Duh_."

Deucalion bristled at that, but he liked to think only slightly. "Hm. Well."

"Well _what_? That should be everyone's priority." Isla dropped something onto the counter about a foot away from him. After a moment of silence, she nudged his shoulder. With a considerably gentler voice, the redhead ordered, "Eat. Or I'll have to throw it out and I hate throwing out food."

"Should I expect a discount?" The older man asked, cutting into the pie on his plate with his fork. "I certainly wouldn't want to pay top dollar for something that belongs in the trash."

"It's on the house. A fair trade for all the amusement your nephews gave me earlier."

Recalling her staunch dislike of pity, he replied, "Well. I certainly wouldn't want it to be _charity_."

The words were barely out of his mouth before her lips pressed against his. The kiss last only a second, almost too light and chaste to even be considered a proper one, before Isla pulled away. He could feel the heat from her blush against his cheek, taste the faint scent of arousal in the air and closed his eyes in case they lit up red.

"There." The word was barely a whisper against his mouth, almost meek before the woman straightened and the strength returned to her voice once more. "Now you can't pay for it, otherwise its prostitution, sorry."

A brow arched over his Aviators, but he kept his eyes firmly shut. "You don't sound sorry."

"Yeah, I'm really not." Isla told him smugly.

Clearing his throat, Deucalion dared open his eyes. Given there was no shocked gasp or fear in her scent, he supposed they had mellowed into their normal, unsettlingly clouded, blue. His head tilted up at her, he asked, "Would you like to go out with me sometime?"

"What gave me away?" She asked with a warm laugh. "Was I too subtle?"

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "They say subtly is overrated."

"Do they?" The young woman asked curiously, "Well, they do know best. Also, eat. Seriously, I cannot throw out Jimmy's twice baked apple pie. I refuse to. It would be a criminal offense."

"It does smell rather good," He admitted.

"It's life changing. It changed my life."

Deucalion let out a puff of laughter and he set upon the pie. True to her word, it was delicious. He listened as she fluttered around the restaurant on light feet in squeaky sneakers and the two spoke mostly of trivial things such as the weather before he set the fork on his plate.

"So, are you just about ready to close?"

"Just waiting on my dashing customer to finish up," Isla replied, moving around the counter to take his empty plate.

"May I walk you home?"

His stomach tightened at her pause, but after a moment she agreed with a bright, "I'd like that. Let me get my coat and keys, okay?"

Deucalion inclined his head and listened as she gathered her things. Sectioning out his cane, he asked where it was she lived so that he could get his bearings of the area. The young lady apparently lived only a few blocks down the street. The neighborhood was hardly the best, but given the fact that Deucalion was a supernatural creature who could tear a grown man apart without breaking a sweat, he was hardly worried- at least for himself. After about a minute he heard the lights click off and the fluorescent stutter overhead. The man wordlessly held the door open for her.

"So courteous." She praised with a soft pat to his cheek. Her fingers were warm and the touch tender, but it didn't linger as she stepped out into the cool night air. "A rare trait nowadays, Mr…what is your last name anyway? It's been bothering me since you shut down Mrs. Daye."

"Alaric." The man replied as he heard a rustle and a whoosh before an umbrella covered them. He offered her his arm.

She took it, linking it together with her own and pressing closely against his side to keep them both within the protection of the umbrella. "Deucalion Alaric," Isla repeated with a hint of amusement. "How regal."

Slightly distracted by the soft swell of her hip as it brushed his own and the way his arm tucked into her waist as it linked with her own, he asked, "And yours?"

"Psh. Like I'm going to tell a total stranger my last name," The woman bumped her hip against his teasingly; unaware of the effect it was having on the man to have a woman so close after a considerable dry spell. With a hint of good-natured condescension in her voice, she chided, "Have you learned nothing from those singing identity theft commercials, Dee? I mean, honestly."

"Well hopefully nothing will come of my foolishness."

He felt her shoulder shrug against his. With a hum, she teased, "We'll see."

"Hm."

"Lighten up." She gave his ribs a gentle nudge, the physical contact this time followed by a chuckle, "I only steal the identities of unattractive men with unattractive accents, so you're perfectly safe, handsome."

"You certainly aren't one to mix words are you?" He asked with a crooked smile. "Would you allow me the same lack of discretion?"

She gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. "Please! I welcome it."

"May I touch your face? Assuming, of course, you'd be comfortable with that."

The woman let out a quiet hum and slowed her steps. "I suppose that'd be fine. I don't have to do anything, do I? Beyond staying still, I mean."

"Just relax your features," Deucalion replied as he handed her his cane.

He offered her his cane and his hand. Isla took both. Keeping the white cane between them, she raised his hand to her face, letting his thumb find her temple before letting go. Her skin was smooth and warm, with a hint of a flush on her cheeks as he dragged his thumb down her jaw to her sharp chin. Keeping it there, he let his index finger caress her high cheeks and brought his other hand to her hip. Wrapping his arm around her slender waist, he found her to be lithe and accepting as she pressed against him with little resistance. Her scent still held that strange, almost tart undertone, but her arousal sweetened it as Deucalion cupped her face. He hardly noticed that the umbrella handle was digging into his stomach, having fallen slightly to the wayside. Rain sprinkled around them, but neither of them paid it any mind. He continued to map out her features with calloused, steady fingers, over the wide curve of her cheeks to her pointed nose. Over her thin brows and over her large, closed eyes; he was surprised to find her without make up on, before he let his fingertips rest on the full bottom lip of her mouth.

"Well." Deucalion cleared his throat as he pulled back, pleased and more than a little turned on himself by hands that she had casually resting on his hips, that sent swirls of _want_ and _sex_ and _mine_ in his mind. "I suppose I should be flattered to be praised by someone so beautiful."

"Oh, has the old man found some game?" Isla teased. She shifted her hips restlessly against his own in a clearly mindless, anxious way he found to be incredibly seductive in its innocence. Of course, that virtue was quickly dampened by her words, "Keep it up and maybe I'll let you come inside with me."

The Alpha hesitated. It would probably be best they held off any intimacies until he learnt the nature of her illness, lest he trigger an episode like the one she had in the diner the first day they met. "I don't know if that'd be such a good idea."

"And why not?" There was no disappoint in the redhead's voice, just curiosity and frankly he appreciated that.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he began to lead her back down the road. The two fell into an easy pace. Smirking, he explained, "I'd prefer to take things slow, if it's all the same to you."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, what with your affinity for conciliatory manners." She nudged his hip with her own, "So I suppose I'll just have to be flattered that you would want to take the time to bed me like a proper gentleman."

He pulled her a bit closer, enjoying the warm press of her soft form against his hard one in the cool, wet air. "Such crass words from such a lovely girl."

"Did I offend your delicate sensibilities, Mr. Alaric?"

"Certainly not."

"Good," Her fingers found his chin, and Deucalion was once again met with a kiss.

This was no light peck but rather a real one; her lips brushed over his, all warmth and sensuality as she pulled him close. Teeth gently scraping over his bottom lip, a silent request that he was more than happy to fulfill by parting his lips and Deucalion was met with an easy, bold stroke of her tongue along his own. A low moan escaped him at the taste of her, at the tang of apple and cinnamon and the sweet taste of her flesh as Isla's hands ran down his chest. Her touches light and teasing and completely welcome as her finger tips rested on his belt.

Letting her mouth linger against his, she murmured, "This is my stop."

"Oh." The werewolf cleared his throat but made no attempt to pull away.

Neither did Isla. Fingers still resting dangerously close to his crotch, she asked, "Are you sure you won't come up?"

"I think it would be best if we waited," Deucalion grit out as a hint of that bitter sickly undercurrent made its way into her scent.

"Spoilsport," She taunted, but stepped back. "Alright, I'll stop being such a tease. Here." Careful hands took one of his and the young woman pressed the handle of her umbrella into it. "You can give it back to me tomorrow when you pick me up."

"I can?" He asked with a dry grin as he let the umbrella rest on his shoulder. "At what time?"

"Noon at the diner? I've got a doctor's appointment in the morning, but I have the rest of the day off."

"Sounds good. I'll see you at noon."

The two shared one last quick kiss before she skirted around him and darted into her apartment building.

**A/N: this is probably one of my favorite things I've written in a while. Tell me what'cha think, if you're so inclined.**


	5. Chapter 5

The first words out of Deucalion's mouth when he entered the loft were; "You are both in so much trouble I cannot even begin to fathom a proper punishment for you."

"You should be thanking us!" The twins cried in unison from the direction of the couch. "We got you laid!"

"You did not," Their Alpha rebuffed, ignoring the laughter from Kali and Ennis as he sectioned off his cane. "I did that all on my own."

With shock laced in his heavy voice, Ennis asked, "You got laid?"

"Well, not yet." Deucalion admitted as he shrugged off his wool coat. Not needing to count his steps in his own home, he hung it up and resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the twins refused to drop the subject.

"Dude, seriously?" Aidan, he could tell by the slightly higher pitch in his voice, said with a sigh, "You haven't sealed the deal yet? She's like, hot and seems totally into you."

"She is."

His brother cut in with a whiny, "Than why-"

"That is none of your concern, Ethan." Deucalion replied flatly. "You are not to ever interfere with my personal affairs again, is that understood?"

The twins muttered a lackluster apology and with a curt nod the man left the den in favor of his bedroom. Two pairs of footsteps followed him, one light and the other heavy, so he didn't bother to close the door after slipping inside. With a sigh, he asked, "What is it?"

"You're dating someone?" Kali asked, curious, if not a bit annoyed. He could practically see her scowling at him and resisted the urge to smirk as she carried on, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Of course it is!" Ennis answered for him. His usual baritone was bright and cheery, almost unsettlingly so, as he clapped his Alpha on the shoulder. "It's about time he started having some fun."

Deucalion bristled at that and moved to sit on his bed. "It's just a date."

"What's her name?" The large man asked curiously as he dropped onto the bed beside the leaner man. His weight heavy enough to jostle their Alpha as he moved to put his cane on the bedside table.

"Isla." He paused after a moment to add, "Not sure what her last name is, though."

"She cute?"

Kali scoffed at him, "How the hell would he know that?"

"He smells like a female, I'm sure he's at least copped a feel by now."

"Classy and discreet as always, Ennis." Deucalion smirked, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get some sleep."

"Are you seeing her again?" There was no anger or jealousy in Kali's tone, only curiosity and for that he was thankful. When her Alpha gave a nod, the woman let a quiet hum. "Well. Have fun with your little girlfriend. Just try not to get too attached."

Ennis eased off the bed and Deucalion listened as he led his mate toward the door, "Jeez, Kal, when'd you become such a cock block?"

Her response was muffled by the door, but Ennis' yelp wasn't. Deucalion felt for the chain to the desk lamp beside his bed and clicked it off with a smirk on his lips.

The next morning, Deucalion's sleep was rather rudely interrupted. This was thanks to the twins, who had woken him up before dawn in their excitement and insisted they help him dress 'appropriately' for his big date…which had apparently meant in a pair of absurdly tight jeans, an undershirt and wasn't complete until they added in an insulting amount of suggestions on how to modify his behavior. They seemed to think he was not only incapable of holding a civilized conversation with a human woman for more than a few minutes but would be unable to, as Aidan so eloquently put it, _know where to stick it_ when the time came. After several assurances that he did, in fact, know what sex was and was completely competent to handle such things without their opinion or advice or the several condoms they insist he take with him (he had his own), they let him be.

Thankfully Kali had intervened before he left the penthouse. An audible scoff had been heard and without a word, Deucalion had been dragged back to his room. The woman had been rather blunt about how he couldn't go out looking like _a man for hire_ which he supposed was her subtle way of saying he looked like a prostitute. After she dressed in something she deemed far more appropriate (in that it had sleeves and he could walk without a shooting pain in his groin), Deucalion was finally allowed to leave the house.

The weather was surprisingly pleasant; mild and sunny with the slightest hint of a breeze that made the man feel a touch foolish about walking around with an umbrella. At least he couldn't see the strange looks he was receiving, he thought.

As he came upon the diner, Deucalion was greeted by his waitress with a cheerful, "Hey, gorgeous."

"Isla." The man inclined his head, a smile on his lips as he offered his hand. When she took it, he was able to gauge just where she was and placed a kiss on her cheek, "I hope you're doing well?"

The smooth skin warmed under his lips. Pulling away from him, but Isla kept her hand on the crook of his elbow, she replied, "Well, better now."

"I believe this belongs to you," Deucalion offered her the umbrella and she took it with a quiet thank you before he asked, "Before we go… do I look like a male prostitute?"

After a rather unsettling pause, she teased, "Absolutely." Her hand found his shoulder before straightening the lapel of his wool jacket. "But you know, an incredibly expensive, dapper one."

He nodded with a smile. "Good. Shall we?"

"Mhm." She turned him around, leading him in the direction from which he'd come. "I was thinking we'd start with lunch. But not here, because I'm not a masochist."

"Thank god for that." They fell into an easy pace. "I find it hard to believe Mrs. Daye would approve our outing."

Her shoulder brushed his as she shrugged. "Probably not. Good thing I've got the entire day not to care what she thinks."

"How was your doctor's appointment?"

"Wow, just going to dive right into the personal questions, are we?" Her voice was its usual bright and warm, but Deucalion still caught a hint of trepidation in it.

Curious, but not wanting to offend, he pursed his lips and peered in her direction with his best contrite expression. "I didn't mean to over step my bounds…"

"Nah, it's cool." Isla shrugged again, this one less lively than the last and her tone a bit more sheepish. "I've got a heart thing. My doctor likes to keep an eye on it."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" The Alpha asked with an arched brow. He supposed the explained her irregular heartbeat and occasional paroxysms.

"Serious is a relative term at this moment. Right now, I'm fine, so let's focus on that, okay?"

Catching a hint of desperation in her voice, he offered her a grin. "Very well. Now, tell me, Miss Isla, do you often seduce strange older men?"

"Actually, no." Isla tightened the grip on his arm a touch, the warmth rising in her pitch as the embarrassment faded away, "Usually strange younger men, but I figured there might be something to all the experience I keep hearing about. As an age bracket, I mean. Not you specifically. Hold up, this is our stop. Pizza's okay, right?"

"Pizza's fine." Deucalion allowed her to lead him inside, minding the few steps when directed.

The restaurant was hot and humid and smelled strongly of garlic. A speaker was blaring the guitar riff of David Bowie's _The Man Who Sold The World_ from somewhere a few yards ahead of him, but Isla was quick to assure him that they'd be eating outside. They just had to let the hostess know they'd arrived.

"Planned this, did you?" Deucalion began to section off his cane.

The redhead gave his chest a light slap with a scoff, "My life doesn't center around you, you know."

"Hey, Isla!" An orotund voice greeted her as a pair of heavy footsteps approached, clicking against the tiled floor. The tone turned cheeky and he felt Isla knock gently into his shoulder as the stranger continued, "This your date?"

Beside him, the Alpha heard the woman let out a groan of mortification. The stranger cackled and continued, "Come on, sugar, follow me. Saved you the best seat in the house...well, best seat on the patio."

As the footsteps clicked away, Isla cleared her throat awkwardly. "I may have called ahead."

"So I gathered."

"Shut up," She checked his hip with her own. With a careful tug on his lapel, the younger woman led him in the direction the hostess had gone. "I just wanted to make sure we got a spot."

"Mhm."

"Stop judging me, Deucalion, or I will break that cane over my knee and spank you with it."

With a wry smirk, he sighed mournfully. "Promises, promises."

"Oh you just think you're so good looking, don't you?"

"According to your constant assurance, I'm quite the catch."

"Please. I only like you for your body," Isla teased, stopping him just outside the restaurant. Her form, tall and lean, pressed against his as she slipped her arms around his neck. "You're totally just a trophy date. The more you talk the less interested I am."

"And here I thought you liked my voice," He countered, curled a hand over her hip and letting his lips brush over her own with his words.

She chuckled, leaning into his touch encouragingly. Her breasts, covered by soft silk, pressed against his chest and coaxed a low sizzle of arousal in his abdomen. The woman didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she simply didn't care, as her tone remained steady and coy, "Your voice is more suited to a cheap porno than a credible conversation."

"Words hurt, Isla." Deucalion murmured, enjoying the absent stroke of her finger tips against the nape of his neck as she giggled.

"Well, when that voice is panting my name, we'll see if I change my mind." The woman purred. Ignoring his pleased shudder and the way his hands framed the curve of her hips, the woman stepped away, unwinding out of his greedy hands. "But for now, let's keep things amicable. Or at least PG."

"I never cared for censorship," The werewolf huffed.

Not bothering to resist, he allowed her to lead him over to a table a few yards away. He minded the steps as directed and let himself be seated before her. The chair was metal and warmed by the bright sunlight, but not uncomfortably hot nor painfully firm. The table was glass and the place mats vinyl and their hostess entirely too excited about the prospect of torturing her friend.

"So. First date, huh?"

"Moira..." Isla growled, tone warning and harsh. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Like manning the door?"

"I'm sure they can seat themselves. So? Any plans for after lunch?"

Deucalion looked in the redhead's direction.

"What? I'm just making conversation!" The stranger said innocently before laughing. "Geez, Izzie, you'd like I just raped your mother."

"Ria, for fuck's sake, just go away." Isla pleaded with a hint of good-natured (he assumed) annoyance.

The woman cackled, but sure enough her heels clicked away from them. He could vaguely hear her calling about the waitress being with them shortly, but was a bit preoccupied by what he could only assume was Isla resting her elbows on the table…and proceeding to cover her face in embarrassment, given how muffled her voice became.

"Sorry," Isla said with a sigh. "Probably shouldn't have picked a place where people know me, but it's hard considering this town only has seven decent restaurants and I've worked in all of them."

"Not a problem. Always nice to have some entertainment with dinner."

"I hate you."

"Is that right?" Deucalion smirked at her, letting his foot find hers under the table. "I never would have guessed."

"Yep," Isla's voice became clear once more as her ankle brushed his encouragingly. "Can't stand you in the least."

"Well. We'll have to do something about that." A warm breeze swept some of his hair from his brow. "So, you used to work here, did you?"

"For about three months."

"Any particular reason for quitting?" The man noticed her foot and ankle were bare against his own and vaguely wondered what it was she was wearing.

"The bus ride was too long," She explained. "I was living with my mom at the time and well, there were closer places to work."

He quirked a brow. "Not because of food poisoning or a lecherous boss than?"

"Nope. Not very dramatic, I know, sorry…but that reminds me, do you often get wooed by strange young waitresses?"

Deucalion inclined his head and offered an addressing hand in her direction. "I'll admit this is a first for me."

Her voice brightened considerably, "Good. That means I can surprise you."

"Trust me when I say you already have."

Isla hummed with a hint of good natured suspicion, "Pleasant surprise or _I'll live to rue the day_ surprise?

"Oh definitely the latter," He grinned.

The woman let out a sigh, "I guess I'll really have to step my malicious game up then. You know, just to meet expectations."

"I didn't peg you as the type to care about such things."

"Well, when I'm being judged by a gentleman of your caliber…"

"So. Miss Isla." Deucalion clasped his fingers together and leaned a bit closer. "What do you think of all the odd occurrences going on around town?"

"Odd occurrences?"

"The ritualistic murders."

"Oh yeah, well, at least the cougars haven't eaten anyone this week." She drummed her fingers on the glass table, electing a series of clinks from her nails.

"So you'd rather have a serial killer than a pack of cougars?"

"Do cougars have packs?" The woman asked innocently. "I thought they were solitary animals."

"You're missing the point." He replied with an eye roll.

Isla seemed to brush his concern off with a disconcerting amount of ease. "I just don't see what the big deal is. People die in weird ways around here all the time."

"Well, personally, I don't know what this town is coming to," Deucalion lamented with a shake of his head.

"Dude, a Wednesday doesn't go by in this town without someone dying in some brutal, public way. Seriously. It should be on our _Welcome_ sign. Welcome to Beacon Hills: _Prepare to Die_." She chuckled absently and leaned back, "We're like _Santa Carla_ but instead of vampires we have…cougars. Just…so many bloodthirsty cougars."

Deucalion squinted at her from behind his Aviators. Her heart hadn't stuttered or wilted, but her tone had become terribly amused. Deciding to test the waters, he hummed. "Good thing there's so many hunters about."

"Never been a fan of the hunters." The young woman rebuffed with a hint of frustration, "They never seem to play by the rules. It just seems wrong to come into an animals' territory and terrorize it for sport."

"I suppose that's one way to look at it." Dismissing his thoughts, Deucalion cracked a smile and tucked her odd words away into the back of his mind as the waitress approached. "So, tell me, what would you recommend?"

"I don't know, maybe they could find an alternative way of population control?"

He chuckled. "I meant something along the line of lunch."

"Oh."

_**a/n: Sorry for the wait! **_


	6. Chapter 6

After a pleasant lunch, the two of them made their way down to a small local park, or at least started to. The weather had shifted slightly. The wind had grown a bit stronger, sending Isla's hair across his face on more than one occasion. While the woman was embarrassed by this, Deucalion couldn't say he particularly minded. The gust made it difficult for him to catch neither the bitter scent in her blood or anything else beyond her shampoo.

"The one day I let my hair down and I use it to attack my date. _Awesome_," Isla muttered, rooting through her purse for a scrunchie as they walked, letting the man guide them down the street in an absently trusting way Deucalion rather enjoyed, if not pitied just a tad. With a hint of frazzled mirth, she told him, "I'm sorry; it's going up, I swear, just give me a minute."

A smirk tugged at the man's mouth as the wind picked up once more, sending the red tresses across his cheeks and mouth. Pulling the wild strands from his lips, he replied with amusement, "It's fine. I like your shampoo. Jasmine, correct?"

There was a brief pause before she gave an affirming noise and thanked him, albeit a bit awkwardly. Quick to change the subject from her personal hygiene products, she asked, "So, how's the family?"

"Aidan and Ethan are grounded until further notice, if that's what you're asking."

Her tone lightened with laughter, "It was."

"I thought you might be." The man smirked, but only a touch. In truth, he was still rather annoyed with the young men's attempts to invade his personal life. Not to mention undermine his authority. And question his manhood. And be such smug little _bastards_ about the whole thing. Thankfully, none of his irritation played on his face, or if it did, Isla didn't seem to mind.

"Aw." She gave his hip a light check with her own as the breeze picked up once more. Absently, she wished she had worn something a bit warmer, but didn't comment on it. No use complaining about something she couldn't change. "But if they weren't glaringly disrespectful and obnoxious, where would we be?"

Deucalion arched a brow over his Aviator as she looped a finger in his belt loop. Giving it a tug, she halted his steps. With a hint of a scowl and a touch of sarcasm, he offered, "At the diner."

"Well, yeah, probably." Isla unwound her arm from his and stepped back a touch. Pulling her long hair into a high ponytail, she continued, "but nobody wants to have sex in a diner, Dee, it's unsanitary."

"So very, very vulgar." The man tutted.

"Indeed I am." She stepped back into his clutches, enjoying how quick he was to wrap an arm around her shoulders. Secure to his side, the younger woman continued smugly, "Don't act like you don't enjoy it. I see that little twitch your fingers make when I am, Mr. Alaric."

With an uncommenting hum, the man began to walk once more. His white cane skipped over the cracks in the side walk making a light rasping sound against the pavement. Isla followed, falling into an easy step beside him as the wind picked up again, more violently this time.

"You didn't really ground them, did you?"

The hint of what seemed to be genuine worry in her tone made him smirk, but Deucalion kept his tone mild, "They won't see the light of day until after they graduate."

"High school or college?"

The man inclined his head. Consideration lacing his tone, he admitted, "I hadn't considered college…"

Isla giggled beside him. The sound, combined with the press of her body against his own, spread a warmth through him he hadn't felt in some time, earning a more genuine smile from his lips. It only lasted a moment however, as a rain drop splattered against the lens of his glasses. Less than five minutes later, the single drop had become a torrential downpour. The pair made the only logical decision and quickly headed back in the direction of her apartment. The young woman had attempted to pull out her umbrella, but judging by the stream of obscenities that she let out, Deucalion supposed that had been a rather futile effort as the wind whipped around them.

"I hate California," Isla growled as he herded her up the stoop of her building and out of the rain. "I hate it, I hate it, I hate it."

"No disagreements here." Deucalion wiped some of the water from his face as she pulled out her keys.

They jingled as she searched through what must've been a number of them before she let out a quiet, "_got'cha,"_ before she grabbed his hand. "Come on, you can dry off and I can figure out something for us to do."

When the man refused to budge, Isla sighed dramatically and rephrased, "You can dry off and I can figure out something completely innocent and nonsexual for us to do."

"I'd like that." Lacing their fingers together, Deucalion allowed her to lead him into the building.

It was dry, but drafty and the florescent lights buzzed in an annoyingly loud and random manner that suggested they may be shorting out above their heads. The Alpha was also fairly certain the potent, enzymatic smell coming from one of the apartments down the hall was methamphetamine, but didn't comment on it.

Instead, he asked, "Have you lived here long?"

Isla looped her arm through his. "Since I was eighteen, why?"

"Just wondering." It was really quite amazing the chemical fetor hadn't leeched into her skin. Deucalion supposed there must have been some distance between the apartments as he let the woman lead him over to the stairwell.

She gave him a brief warning that they were going to the top floor, the third floor specifically, and that they would have to make due with stairs. He made a note of how many there were, both for the trip down and for any return visits. Isla's apartment was the third down on the left out of a row of five. The hall was no better than the one downstairs, just as drafty and the lights just as loud, but there was no stench of drugs. Just a bit of stale air and bleach.

The lock clicked and Isla's hand found his once more. "Alright, we're in! No need to take your shoes off, we're not fancy here."

The apartment smelled substantially better; like fresh soap and her floral perfume. It was subtle, and frankly it too seemed to have a breeze to it, but he certainly preferred it to the hall. He let her take his coat, but kept his cane at hand. He could hear a few faint dripping sounds and realized her roof was leaking, which would explain the clean air smell and why she had asked him to keep on his shoes.

"The place is pretty clean, so don't worry about tripping." She told him, fluttering around him in an awkward, nervous manner the man found rather endearing as she led him into the living room with both her hands wrapping around his free one. "The only clutter is a few books, but they're tucked away in the corner and there might be some clothes on the floor in my room- _which you are totally not going to see, because I respect you, mister_."

He trailed his cane over her floor, finding it to be made of some kind of tile as he nodded to her, "Thank you."

She gave his hip a light slap. "You're welcome. Now, sit tight, gorgeous, while I get us towels."

Deucalion listened to her light footsteps patter away. Curiously, he extended his cane and found he was only a foot or so from the couch. A loveseat judging by the size of it. Without second thought, he took a seat. The corduroy was worn and velvety under his touch and he wasn't terribly surprised to it smelled heavily of her. Both her sweet natural scent and the bitter undertone. He settled in as her light foot falls returned.

"So…sorry our date got derailed by Mother Nature, Dee." Isla set the towel in his lap.

Pleased to find it soft and clean smelling, the man patted his cheeks with it. Pulling the Aviators from his eyes, he quickly dried them with a bowed head before she got a chance to see the bloodshot and milky blue irises.

The woman would have none of it. She plucked them from his grasp and eased off the couch when he reached for them. Stepping out of his grasp, she teased him with a hint of well-meaning sarcasm, "What did I tell you about rust, Deucalion? Honestly."

The man frowned at her. As he leaned back, he sighed, "By all means, Isla, take it upon yourself to just snatch my personal belongings out of my hands."

"I'm saving your personal belongings from a long and painful death." She dropped her towel on his head, overpowering his sense with her scent in a way that made his head swim and spine tingle with want as she ruffled his hair dry with it. "And your pretty face, quite possibly from tetanus."

Although muffled slightly, he huffed, "No one has ever gotten tetanus from a pair of sunglasses."

"Exactly." Isla pulled the towel from his head and tilted his chin up. It seemed to be an incredibly intimate gesture and he just knew she was staring at his eyes, but her tone remained airy and light and her unsteady heart beat neither quickened nor slowed as she continued, "Do you want to be the first? Is that what you want to go down in history as, Dee? The first guy to die by Aviators?"

"I'd probably make the news," He smiled, more to himself, as she thumbed his cheek.

He knew his eyes were unsettling. That they made people uncomfortable and many stared awkwardly at them, if not gawked outright, as if he couldn't feel their discomfort and anxiety. Isla didn't feel like either of those things. Her fingers were soft and warm, drawing over the curve of his cheek and temple as she inspected him. There was no uneasiness in her posture, no uncertainty in her touch and no shying away. It was a simple, accepting act, completely trusting and unafraid and it made his stomach tighten. Whether it was with fear (of what, he wasn't entirely sure. Intimacy, perhaps. Regardless of what it was there was certainly something to be anxious about, he knew that much) or a rather immature lust, he didn't know.

But Deucalion did know that he wanted to ease the gap between them and he absently raised his hands to her hips. Pulling her closer, the Alpha hoped his claws weren't cutting into the fabric of her denim skirt as she continued to touch his face in a tender, absent manner that made his cock twitch in his trousers. Isla ran her fingers down his jaw, enjoying the sharp contour of it and the stubble under her fingertips. Arousal twisted in her scent, making his mouth water and he quickly closed his eyes before they could glow the inhuman red he was so proud of. Deucalion smoothed his hands down, over her the broad curves of her hips and down the lean lengths of her thighs, enjoying the firm flesh underneath and the taste of her in the air around him. Midway down, the denim gave way to soft skin, earning an approving gasp from her that jarred him back to reality.

Jerking his hands away from her, Deucalion cleared his throat as he pressed his claws into his palms. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Isla set his glasses back on his nose and carefully pushed them up. She thumbed his cheek again, "No harm, no foul, Deucalion."

"Still. Mixed signals are really better left to-"

"People my age?" The woman prompted. There was no annoyance or judgment in her tone, just amused understanding and he appreciated that. Apparently some of his agreement read on his face, because she carried on absently as she took a seat beside him. "Just because you're older doesn't mean you can't be as awkward and horny as the rest of us, Dee."

A smirk pulled at his lips as her thigh brushed his. "Eloquent."

"I try." He felt her shrug, a flamboyant gesture as her shoulder brushed his. "Now, I was going to take you to the park for a jazz concert, but considering I don't even know if you like jazz…"

He ran his hand up her thigh to where her hand rested. Lacing their fingers together, he told her, "I do. Who was playing?"

"A local concerto. I don't know their name, but they were supposed to be covering Mingus." She let out a wistful sigh and fiddled with his fingers. Hers were long and nimble, searching out the calluses of his own, over the nail beds and the bumps of his palm as she spoke, "Probably should have figured it would rain though. I swear, the weather has been getting worse by the week."

He took his hand from her and let his arm fall over the back of the couch in an open invitation to move closer. Letting the other brush her knee, he agreed, "It is rather disconcerting."

She took it between her own. Crossing her legs, she let one of them fall between his thighs as she spoke, "It's been pretty erratic. Even for California, I mean."

The Alpha blinked in surprise. "Are you not from here originally?"

"I am," Isla chuckled as he wound his arm around her shoulders. "I was just letting you know, it's usually not this bad."

"Actually, I spent a bit of time here when I was-"

His phone cut him off with a high pitched beep before announcing in a robotic voice "_Ennis calling_". The redhead beside him chuckled as he let out a growl, but didn't say anything as he pulled it from his pocket. He apologized and hit the ignore button. No sooner had he placed it back in his pocket did it beep and announce the fellow Alpha's name once more.

"Why don't you get that while I hang these towels up?" The woman offered.

"Thank you."

"No problem." Giving his knee a pat, she slipped off the couch.

Hitting the call button, Deucalion growled, "This better be important."

"We've lost one of Hale's Betas," the man told him. "The twins let him go. Do you want me to pick you up?"

Listening to Isla's feet move back toward him, the Alpha of Alphas let out a mournful sigh, "I suppose so."

"Just give me the address and I'll be there."

Deucalion did and hit the _end_ button. From a few feet away, he could hear the young redhead clear her throat. "So…I take it you have to go?"

There was no anger or frustration in her voice, just a hint of meekness that made him smirk a bit. Nodding, he let out a sigh as he stood. "I'm afraid so. It seems some things simply cannot carry on in my absence."

"You never did tell me what you did for a living…" Isla's voice brightened with humor as he stepped towards her, "So? What is it? If not a college professor…Phone sex operator? Audio erotica narrator? Witty third option?"

"Nothing so scandalous, I'm afraid."

When he simply let his words hang in the air, the young woman gave his shoulder a shove. "How dare you leave me hanging like this."

Deucalion offered her a devilish grin. "Well, I have to keep you coming back, don't I?"

"Mhm. Come on, I'll walk you out."

"No need," He followed her over to the door and took his coat when she pressed it into his palm. Resting his cane against the wall, he shrugged it on as he spoke, "No sense in us both getting wet."

"Well, to be fair, I've been wet since that little moment on the couch."

A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth and he helplessly tried to suppress it. Shaking his head, he scoffed at her, "Subtle and classy as always, Miss Isla."

"Just thought you should know." The woman replied sweetly.

"Yes, well…" Deucalion held out his hand expectantly.

When she took it, he ran it up her arm to her shoulder. He gave it a brief squeeze before sliding it over to her neck. The skin was smooth and warm and his head spun a bit at the rush of arousal in her bittersweet scent. He thumbed at the expanse of her throat a moment, pleased by how quick she was to pull him closer by his belt loops. Her hips pushing encouragingly against his, Isla's hands ran up his chest and smoothed over his shoulders before slipping down his sides.

Tilting her chin toward him, Deucalion nudged his nose against her own to gauge where she was. With only an inch in height difference, her mouth was rather easy to find and he captured her lips with his own. The kiss was slow and lazy, but his hands weren't.

Isla let out a low, approving groan as they moved over her shoulders, down the gap between her silk covered breasts to her waist, miming the same path as her own had taken on his lean form. His didn't stop there however, his fingertips dragging down and over the sensitive skin of her thighs as Deucalion ran his hands up her skirt. The younger woman shuddered, her lips parting in a gasp as he slid one of his long, lean legs between her own in an attempt to keep them splayed. The denim pushed teasingly at her flesh, the sensation of both it and his rough palms making her head spin and heart pound. Grabbing his shoulders, she pulled his closer, until her breasts pressed against his firm chest and her fingers tangled in his tawny hair.

Lips hovering over hers, Deucalion smirked at her ragged breathing and tuned into her heartbeat. It was strong and fast and surprisingly stable. Letting his mouth ghost over her chin, he gave her neck a tentative lick as his hand found the cleft between her legs. Senses dulled by the warmth of her panty covered sex against his fingers and the arousal he could taste on her skin and in the air, Deucalion could only shudder as Isla ground against his touch invitingly.

With a feminine, breathy giggle, the redhead pressed a firm, quick kiss to his lips before she pulled away panting. "Did you think I was kidding when I said I'd been-"

A horn broke them from their lust drunk stupor. It was faint, but both knew it was for him and Isla pressed one last kiss to his swollen, greedy mouth. Deucalion carefully smoothed her skirt back down over her thighs, content to enjoy the welcoming warmth her mouth offered in favor of her cunt.

"I'll see you soon." He promised with a nod and, if he was being honest, a faint blush as she kissed him on the cheek.

"I'd like that."

The Alpha smiled at her. "Splendid."

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! This one was a bitch to write for some reason. No idea why. Hopefully the next one won't take as long and that you enjoyed this one. I'd love to hear what you think! **


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